In the Back of My Acc'

Yesterday, I had the misfortune of a dump truck crunching my car’s ass as I tried to make it to a job interview. I am fine, but poor Brunhilda, my Accord, is missing a bumper and her left light is crumpled in like I lost the merging fight. Oh wait, I guess did.

Thankfully, my insurance is on point, and five hours later I was behind the wheel of a rental. The problem? It was a Ford Focus. I drove the plastic-y car home, as I tried to keep it under 60, for fear that the car would fall apart and I would be left Flintstoning it up the NJ Turnpike. Even the elbow rests were crappy and flimsy in design. Clearly made for people under 4 feet, the leg room was non-existent, with my ass was half hanging into the trunk. The cheapy parts made me feel like it was a prop car, or a starter car you give to your least favorite teenage child. In short - my step son has sturdier car toys.

This, my friends, is why the auto industry must be left to fend for themselves. How dare Ford, with a straight face, ask anyone to cough up $14K for a car with no center console for you to fill with crap? As a taxpayer, why should I pay for their inferior cars? And dare I say, it is not my bad if their workers lose their jobs. Dude, not one person from Detroit has sent me sorry-you-are-unemployed check or dropped a few G’s into my 403(B). But beyond me and my world, industries have had their ebbs and flows, and no one cried for the manufacturing jobs that left overseas which left a lot of immigrant workers unemployed. No one has tried to plug the hemorrhage of customer service jobs that have peaced out to India. What is so wrong with telling people, so get another job? Charlotte is a city built on the backs of Wachovia and Bank of America. New York City is suffering the likes we have not seen in a long time. Who will bail out those people getting cut from AMEX, Citi, etc? Who bailed out the dot-comers? The same way people trekked into Detroit three generations ago for the opportunity, the current generation can mosey on out and into another opportunity. Retrain and reinvent is what most people do under those circumstances, and both the industry and its workers need to do it. They are not owed their jobs, while 6% of us shuffle into the unemployment line. The writing was on the wall five years ago, but they were so comfy with their plump benefits and chose to stay. I made my choice, and it was Honda.

Spun

In an attempt to break up the monotony of my days, I ventured out to the gym for the first time in 5 months. I pulled my hair back, threw on my sneakers and checked the class schedule online. Ah, Step and Ab Attack, I could certainly use that. I skipped the one block to the gym (yes, I acknowledge I am shameless for ignoring the gym a block away), hoping to catch the 9:15 class.

When I guiltily scanned my card, I cringed at the thought that the computer screen would glaringly show the last time I went was before I was a “Mrs.” (ok, so I lied, it has been more than 5 months), and the desk attendant would invariably think me a lazy biatch or a sucka for having kept up pretenses and not just cancel my membership. But as I peeked over, I noticed he had a gut to call his own, and didn’t feel so bad.

Scanning the class schedule, I gasped in horror to see their updated schedule squarely states: 9:30 Extreme Spinning. Eff. That wasn’t part of the deal. But already dressed in my gym best, I would not go home defeated. I sifted through my brain for the days when I used to attend, and remembered elderly women filing out of spinning. So, I know I could do this, I quietly amped myself up. Plus, my (used to be fat, and fabulously gay) cousin swears by it, and is an instructor. How hard could it be?

The instructor was kind enough to set up the bike for me - turning knobs and explaining the resistance. I didn’t pay her any mind, as I knew this was probably going to be my last class, and why would I add resistance and make it harder to pedal? Three other women readied their bikes and took their positions, and my instructor turned off the lights. Yes! No one would see me taking it easy if I needed to. She flipped on the Webster Hall music and I instantly understood why my cousin loved the class so much.

We started pedaling easy enough, and I was fine, until she had us getting up and sitting back down and bouncing on the small, pointed bicycle seats. Ten minutes into the class, my quads were fine, but my womanhood started to wish there was more cushioning on those little black plastic thong as the instructor ya-hooed. I saw her shadow fist pumping in the air, as I shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the clock with disappointment, and a tacit comprehension of my cousin’s enthusiasm.

Somehow, I made it through the class, thankful the numbing set in halfway. As I limped home, I realized I had not checked the schedule to see when the next spinning class would be held, determined to return with a jock strap.

Fettered Freedom

Another day, as I wait, exiled from the working community. The days where one relished in the sheer joy of 5:00 PM or the subsequent happy hour seem a distant memory. In good faith, I cannot raise a glass to the tyranny of work without master. I am certainly not held hostage by mop nor broom, but the cold steel barrel of expectation seems pressed against my temple after carving out cover letter and resume, search and research of opportunity, and yet no employment of which to boast or complain. My harsh disdain of schedule and routine has grayed to a desire for utility; a void which no daytime talk show nor court room drama could fill.

I do not think my departure from the employed was ill-timed or my reasons imprecise. However, I lament the uncertainty of my world, and the nagging quandary that I will have squandered an opportunity to do something great by throwing all my energies into securing employment and routine, or, designed a world in the clouds by reading lazily, and writing fancifully while my patient husband trudges to work everyday.

The burden of freedom is heavy.

Dear Music,

On Wednesday, someone asked me what music I listen to, and I suddenly felt old. “Eighties salsa and pre-2003 hip hop,” I answered lamely. I intentionally left out the freestyle. I then realized I was lying, I was saying what music I would be willing to listen to, but in actuality, I listen to not much. It was sad to admit that music and I are no longer cool like that.

Music has always served as the mile markers of my life. Memories of sixth grade are always to the soundtrack of Mary’s Real Love, SWV and Boy II Men. I cannot divorce freshmen year of high school from Killing me Softly, and always fought with my high school boyfriend to the tunes of Jay-Z, Nas and Biggie. I learned to dance salsa to Marc Anthony and Los Adolecentes, and swayed my hips at every sweet sixteen to El Venao and La Tanga. In college, I woke up to Talib Kweli’s Just to Get By, studied to Antony Santos, and partied to anything with a beat, anywhere there was a table I could climb on.

The early and mid-twenties meant newly minted licenses and access to clubs, and acting a damn fool to Beyonce’s Crazy In Love. But, Clubbing to Find Cuties has morphed into Clubbing with My Man, which later morphed into Clubbing with a Purpose, where you don’t come out of your house unless it is someone’s birthday, and going out to eat before is a requisite and really the main event. In the rare occasion when I do venture out to a club, we get there by ten to find parking, by eleven I still haven’t heard a song I am familiar with, by midnight my feet hurt and I lament not going to a lounge, and by one I am limping back to the car, sniggering at the hot little mamas with their cellulite-less bodies, on their way in. Before we even hit the Holland, I am snoring loudly and feel like crap for the next three days.

In the mornings I wake up to the tune of the Today Show and come home listening to Wendy, then throw on MSNBC as I cook. I can’t remember the last time I bought a CD, hit up limewire, or watched music videos, as I dismiss most of it as crappy anyways. Spanish music has also taken similar downward spiral with reggaeton. Let’s be real, you can compose syncopation to dry hump to in a club, but let’s not be so quick to call everything music or everyone artists. Most twenty and thirty-somethings I know are waiting for the return of better hip hop, as though Pun, Biggie and Tupac are going to supernaturally swoop in and swing nursery-rhyming Lil Wayne by his dreads into the middle of the ocean. I saw him on SNL a few weeks back and wanted to hurl at his skinny-jean-size-0 sag. But yet, there was a big to-do about a fabled “gay rapper”? I don’t understand.

I am done holding my breath. Music, I am just not that into you.

A Good Time to Drink

Written by DBrasco, Editorial Flair by Anonymous

Senator Barack Obama has, in many ways, changed the direction of the world. If he wins, some lives will be filled with joy, surprise, and a good excuse to drink for two or three months. If he loses, some lives will be filled with pain, agony, and an even bigger excuse to hit the sauce for four or six months. After the novelty wears off and the booze stops flowing, Americans will no longer view themselves in the same way. We no longer will be able to consciously make blanket racial statements; or perhaps they will simply turn their focus onto Mexicans. We no longer will be able to consciously attribute race for the failings or achievements of specific groups, it’s just that Barack’s white half dragged his other lazy Black half by his bootstraps.

From now on we will see our world as it is in reality – socio-economically disparate. In the present global economy, gone are the days of being the wealthiest person on the block, in the city, or in the country, now you compete on the world stage where oil tycoons are building entire cities. Your five bedroom house and Hummer suddenly look small. All the while, poverty is staggering in every country, not just those we call ‘under-developed’, as the prices of rice, flour, and milk climb exponentially. Gray’s Papaya hotdogs are now $8. The bailout of banks and big companies, while people are evicted from their homes in the same year their jobs hop a flight on Air India, is certain to widen the gap between rich and poor. That brings us back to race. Poor minority communities were poor before the housing crisis, and now they will certainly be abandoned. Loss of ‘wealth’ heaped on top of underperforming schools and no job opportunities will usher in violence and crime. Our news media will focus on the minorities who find themselves with their backs against the wall and will say ‘they are getting out of control’ and ‘they are waiting for a handout’. Are we returning to the 80’s? And if so, will hip-hop then get better?

That brings us back to the race. If Obama is elected, and his tax plan is enacted to help the so-called middle class, what will happen if, even with all of the subsidies and credits in place, banks continue to foreclose and jobs continue to head to India and Costa Rica, China and Bangladesh? Everyone is waiting for the world to change on the coattails of a campaign, but the system set in place is static, and that system is global. The US does not control Russia and Venezuela, China and Africa, or Darfur. John McCain will not tell the Tamil Tigers to stop, or give the nod to Israel to bomb Iran. These are the issues that we face world-wide, not whether AIG or GM are too important to fail or if 250K is enough to be ‘rich’. And yes, Joe the Plumber is rich, even if he does wear plaid shirts, so don’t feel bad for him. Poverty is what keeps wealthy people in power, the middle class as a talking point, and the lower class as a footnote.

Will the Real America Please Stand Up?

As I am currently unemployed, I have had much opportunity to ponder...

Sarah Palin has been yanked from obscurity and force fed to the American people for some weeks now. Please tell her overly ambitious ass to sit down. Her latest faux pax was during a speech where she characterized small towns as “pockets of real America,” because that is where good hardworking people live. I’m sorry, I guess we city dwellers are evil, especially since we subsidize the rest of the country with all the taxes we pay. I have been to small town America, and it sucks and is extremely dangerous. It is where school and mall shootings happen, where people overindulge in chinese buffets and meth, where husbands kill their prego wives, where weirdo sects set up compounds, and where cars drive around in circles for sport. Big pockets of America where people decided to study the bible and not a history book or a map, and are intolerant of gays, immigrants, and reproductive rights. Real nice people. We city slickers pay for their farms to run, for their highways to be built, and for their defaulted mortgages as they picket and/or bomb abortion clinics and argue about where to put a confederate flag. I got an idea where you can put it.

Vol III

WANTED: A new damn job. Something that is not too strenuous, where I can come in late and leave early. I can type really fast, especially on google chat, and can file (my nails) really well. I do not want to talk to people and need my own office because I have an overactive intestinal tract.

MONDAY
My week started with a big fat roach. Slow down - it is not what you think. As I plop down on the cold plastic seat of the girl's bathroom, I eye a huge cockroach on the far left of the bathroom floor. It's antennae's idly waved at me as I gasped in horror, taking in each slight move. I was ready to flee, pants around my ankles and all. After catching what I am sure is a hernia from my exigent pushing, I hurriedly washed my hands and stumbled out, wondering if I remembered to flush, but not caring enough to go back and check.

As I settled back into my desk, my boss rushes into my office in a flurry after her week-long conference with a laundry list of information she wants from me and an envelope. "Here is the response I promised," she says coolly, and places it on my desk. Actually, it is more like the letter I demanded after she denied my request for days off to attend a fellowship, but who is keeping track? I take it and shove it into my purse, knowing the contents could send me walking out of that same door she just floated out of, if I read it. I waited until lunch and had a colleague survey its contents, whose only response was, "its bullshit." "So I will just quit then," I shrug. I have been waiting for a response from a promising second interview, but why wait? This job has been getting in the way of all I have wanted to do: apply and interview for jobs, apply to grad school, write, play tennis, and sit on my couch and watch martha stewart. I decided I would quit on Wednesday. When I returned from lunch, I moonwalked to my desk as I belted out a few "you know I'm bad"s, grabbed my crotch and started dumping all my personal files from my computer. I sang, to the curiosity and annoyance of my colleagues, all afternoon, as I inconspicuously prepared for my departure. Then, I met some of my colleagues for happy hour for a pre-quit celebration.

Tuesday
More singing, pirouettes and crotch grabs. I threw them a bone and did some work, but mostly fantasized about the way in which I would resign. Would I leave the letter tacked on her door with a knife? Would I send it via paper airplane from the hallway? Maybe I should blow up the resignation letter and leave it propped up against her desk. In the end, I settled with the old fashioned 3-sentence sample letter from About.com. My job prospect also emailed to let me know they would be checking references...

Wednesday
Many wonder why Wednesday? Everyone knows you should quit on Friday so you are not stuck by yourself celebrating on like a Wednesday night. I was slated to attend Leadership Newark's retreat on Thursday and Friday, that's why. I coulda called out sick, but decided I woulda been punking out. I wore my red satin pumps, and was tempted to wear my Assata Shakur shirt, but thought it might be overkill. It took all morning to pen my boss's boss's letter. I made it obviously flowery and gracious, so he can see the contrast when I fedexed him both letters and decided to print them out on my job letter head for old time's sake. A colleague brought in cinnabons and we shared laughs, as I waited for my boss to return from lunch. As the afternoon wore on, the adrenaline started to rush in, as I was acutely aware my time had come. When I heard her return, and finally get off her cellphone, I grabbed the letter and quickly rushed over to her office, a la Braveheart. She said she was busy, but had a brief moment. "I just want to tender my resignation letter, real quick." Her face poured over the 3 sentence letter, longer than she needed to, and I know she was just thinking of the bitchiest thing to say. In the end, she said the two weeks weren't necessary, and in painful pleasantness, said I was free to leave today so as not to "drag things out." Her fakeness extended to the rest of the afternoon, as she asked me about files and returning my keys through strained smiles. I grinned the entire afternoon, as she realized she was up sh*t's creek and was now trying to extract as much info from me before I left. I met up with some colleagues for a quit-happy-hour afterwards, where one of my colleagues received an email erroneously from her, talking about him! And to which he responed to! Her goof was enough to make me drink heartily, and stagger home, knowing I made the right choice.

Thursday & Friday
Were aweome! I met a lot of great people and wasted no opportunity to casually tell them I recently liberated myself from the tyranny of Landmark, I mean my boss.

Monday
I received a call that I got a new damn job.

Vol II

Alas, the Landmark Series has a new volume.

I was recently accepted to Leadership Newark, a 2-yr fellowship. (YAY!) One dimension of the fellowship is I have to miss one day of work a month to attend training workshops in policy, education, health, and other issues concerning Newark. Did I mention you get to miss work AND they feed you? As the title suggests, there is leadership training involved, but most importantly, you go through this training with various other leaders in Newark from all sectors. For a person such as myself who does recruitment in Newark (unfortunately), it would behoove the organization to have me be a part of this. Whatever. Let's be real, I don't plan to bitch about this job into 2009. My plan was to get the days approved and in the case I was still there in October, not have to use my vacay days so I can cash those out.

So, today I submitted a written request to get the days approved. Surprise, surprise, the request was denied. Apparently it was a stretch of the imagination for my boss to see how this could be invaluable to recruitment, so unlike Landmark. The most interesting part was the emoting from my boss that ensued. She walks in my office, tosses my request on my desk and says, "There is no way I could agree to this. I was going to talk to you about this on Monday, but there is no need. Are you kidding me? I'm not approving this." She looked visibly angry and triumphant.

I nodded thoughtfully, as I watched her gesticulate smugly. She continues, "your recruitment season is about to start and you can't take these days." I knew she would say as much, as I wondered whether she called Xxxxx for inspiration before hopping on her high broom to storm into my office. I pointed to the infinite list of non-recruitment activities she has littered my job description with. AND to the financial aid workshop she made me attend in the middle of the recruiment season last year, and reminded her I had expressed my concerns with all her randomness over a year ago, which fell on deaf ears. I also referenced the reports I create, which no one reads, and accused her of making my position a dumping ground for those undesirable tasks. I even reminded ol' girl (by now in my outside voice), of her inappropriate, yet telling, comment about her unwillingness to redistribute the workload to who it really belongs to because he wont like it very much. I saw red and told her I would have to "digest" what she said about Leadership Newark, but I was no longer going to do non-recruitment tasks, as she has clearly expressed its grave importance. She retreated a bit by now, physically standing not in front of my desk but almost in the hallway, promising she would try to find someone else for all these unpleasant tasks (of course "he" wasnt on the short list).

As a consummate non-confrontationist (yes, i am stopping short of calling myself a b*tch-ass), I never imagined pepper spraying her with a dose of her own bullshit. She sauntered in, scoffing at my request for real personal development and left making promises of change. I suppose she thought I would yes-mam her, not realizing the air was already charged, and lightning struck. She might think she won this one, until I call out sick on those given days (if I am still there).

I lament the eff you mode I have been forced into, crouched behind my desk, baring my teeth whenever I smell her JC Penny shoes in the air. But, I do not want to give myself away, as I want her cunning little brown face to collapse under the sentence, "Since I can't fire my boss, I tender my resignation."

Heehee.
me

VOL Ia

Boss Lady,

I called Xxxxx Xxxxx at Landmark to let them know I was no longer interested in attending the Forum. I was informed I was withdrawn, since I had not attended today's forum, and I asked them to no longer contact me. I expect it will be honored. Initially, I called to speak with Xxxxx this morning to change the date. However, I spoke to Xxxxxx, who informed me she was with you last night when you called me, and asked me why I had not returned your call. She went on to say she knew I went to Princeton, and said, "You didn't go to Princeton to make excuses." I was shocked by her offensive tone, but more so because I never told her I attended Princeton. Providing Landmark with personal information so they may find leverage in their recruitment strategies is quite unethical, and I hope Xxxxxx learned about my educational background through an internet search, rather than my employer.

While I had not shared this with you before, I felt the meeting we had in late July was completely inappropriate. You endorsed a session where staff members were forced to share personal information to only have their answers publicly picked at and prodded by Landmark staff. Moreover, we were not given sufficient information about the nature of the meeting beforehand, nor were we given the option to opt out. I hope you understand how this made me feel uncomfortable, and ultimately pressured to attend.

Although I had done some Google searches, which rendered the unflattering links below, I still planned to attend the class. At worst, it would be a waste of my time, and I was promised I could leave at any time. However, time has become a premium as of late. I am not required to explain to you what I do with my personal time, yet offered the information willingly. You utterly dismissed what I had shared with you on Monday regarding the time I was spending away from home, as well as my personal responsibilities and interests. If one of my shortcomings was I did not take a stand when I should have, then I must thank Landmark for assisting me with that, for I no longer have any desire to attend any Landmark event and would not like to engage in any discussion surrounding Landmark.

Moving forward, I am interested in professional development beyond the annual Financial Aid workshops, such as a class in statistics to help with the collection and analysis of data.

http://www.culthelp.info/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1243&Itemid=12

http://www.rickross.com/reference/landmark/landmark26.html

I hope you have a great weekend,

Me

VOL I

For those of you who have been following my Landmark Saga, or perhaps not... In late July, my boss made our small office staff of 6 sit around the table in her office with 2 people at the head, from Landmark - an organization you could easily google that seems to be Dr. Phil on crack on some bogus self-help-find-your-inner-potential bs. Although completely unprofessional, the Landmark represenatatives began to poke and prod into our personal lives, to the horror of the unsuspecting staff, including myself. Topics like weight loss, marital problems, and nasty divorces were the subject of scrutiny, as the heavy-set black woman in the front prodded and picked at our responses with a thick alabama accent - eventually getting people to admit they were sloths, bad listeners, bitter, arrogant, bad breathed, horrrible lays, etc. Ok, so I am prone to some exaggeration, but the inappropriateness was real, as I struggled to find something that wasn't too incriminating or too embarassing to share with my colleagues, as the corpulant woman bullied more answers out of me.

You see, my boss had done this three-day seminar and felt her life had changed remarkably and wanted the rest of the staff to "speak the same language." I danced around the fact I had my own epiphany a month earlier and was studying like a beast for the GRE, promising myself I would not be employed here next year. But in the end, I threw the woman a bone and told her I felt I didnt read enough, which morphed into not being intellectually challenged, which she somehow felt was an indicator of a fear of failure. Whatever. Some people shared too much, and we all felt a little dirty in the end for having been forced, unknowingly to share private information and be publicly judged. All the while, my boss sat there, observant as all hell.

At the end of the session, the woman sat there, immovable, waiting for us to sign up for the three-day event. Their tactic is that one should seize the moment to get your life together, and reluctance to sign up would only reinforce the reason why you needed them even more. The three day sessions are from 8 am to 10pm, with one 90 min break for dinner and a few breaks for snacks. These "forums" are held in a hotel in central jersey, and you had to stay in the same hotel, with limited contact to the outside world. The tuition is 700, and the bill was being footed by my boss (gee, i wonder how her boss would feel about that). I selected the September 12th session with the idea I would just cancel later on, or maybe just show up for the firday event to get out ofthe office and then not go back :)

But as this weekend approached, I had been hit with commitment after commitment, to the point where i have only been to my house to sleep and wonder if there were maggots in the trash, and if so, could they water my plants. So as my boss sat across the desk from the Monday before, I told her I planned on rescheduling the date. She coyly looks down at her hands and says, can I suggest something, just go. THere will always be something, you will always have plans. You need to just go. I searched quickly in my head for a reason, and blurted out I was writing and couldnt screw up my muse with this event. She waved it off, it will make you an even better writer. This was getting creepy, and she totally dismissed my personal responisbilities. I told her I would think about it to get her out of my office and thought that was that.

When the Landmark people called on Wednesday, I told them I needed to reschedule and they told me they enrollment manager would call me back. She never did. Thursday came and went, and Thursday night, as I am dodging through traffic on Route 1 on my way to dinner, I get a call from my boss. I instinctively answer, as a whole host of tragedies scrolled through my head. I didnt get to see you before you left the office and I wanted to wish you luck on your first day of Landmark tomorrow. Her voice was almost melodic. I knew it well, she used the same voice to bargain with the deli next door to get a price reduction on the bagels we ordered for events. I flatly responded that I wasn't going, really angry at myself picking up the call. "The person never returned my call, but I planned on rescheduling." Her tune quickly changed, Really? They told ME the YOU were being unresponsive. Where did the sweetness go? My patience broke and told her I was driving and would call her back.

Twenty minutes later, as I cozied up in the booth with a good friend from London and perused the wine list, my phone goes off. What's going on? You have not called. Sorry lady, but from 9 to 5 I am your biatch. At 7:30 pm - not so much. Another call 20 minutes later, which i of course ignored, had me teeming with fury. But I composed myself and went back to banter and my scallops. Now, since she was clearly effing with my time, i decided to respond in kind with a text at 11:30 PM explaining I would be in the office tomorrow, Friday, September 12th. I planned everything I was going to say from beginning to end on the ride to work, only to find out she wasnt coming into work today.

I called Landmark to let them know I needed to reschedule, when the burly woman picks up. I can tell from her breathing she wasnt happy and was sniffing me out over the phone. Like the big old dinosaur in Jurrassic park where the people had to stand still. She asked why I wasnt coming and when I explained, she said, I know your boss wont mind if you dont go into work today and come here instead. I repeated I called to reschedule not to come in. She asked why I hadnt called earlier, or returned my bosses calls. She made me aware she was siiting next to my boss last night when she had called, and she said they had tried to reach out to me a lot. My patience was wearing thin as it were, and I began to repeat that her minion never called in my you-effing-annoying-me voice when she cuts in and says. I know you, you went to Princeton. Did you you go to Princeton to make excuses? I blacked. Ghettoness erupted out of my mouth as my neck snapped and I said EXCUSE ME??? I dont give excuses. I dont remember all that I said in its exactness, although I am tempted to write some craziness. All I know was I was brief, loud and asked exactly who I needed to speak to change and then hung up on her ass as soon as she gave me the 10th digit.

Clearly, it turns out my boss has a part-time and I am on a full-fledge hunt for new employment.